


I Like Cats, Too

by elle1991



Category: Black Panther (2018), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Animals, Avengers Family, Awesome Natasha Romanov, Awesome T'Challa (Marvel), Bucky Barnes & Steve Rogers Friendship, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Cats, Civil War Team Captain America, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Cryofreeze (Marvel), Cute, Depression, Developing Friendships, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Healing, Hiding, Hopeful Ending, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Muteness, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark Friendship, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, POV Natasha Romanov, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Protective T'Challa (Marvel), Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Sokovia Accords, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark Friendship, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Sweet T'Challa (Marvel), T'Challa (Marvel) Is a Good Bro, Team Dynamics, Team Feels, Team Fluff, Team as Family, The Raft Prison (Marvel), Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Trauma, Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 22:52:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13646094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle1991/pseuds/elle1991
Summary: The Avengers are more than just a team; they are a family. When that family is torn apart by the split caused by the Sokovia Accords, Natasha regresses into herself and lapses into a prolonged period of silence. As Team Cap hide away in Wakanda under the protection of T'Challa, will anyone be able to help Natasha overcome her depression and mutism? Enter a very special cat named Midnight...





	I Like Cats, Too

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arra/gifts).



> Based on the prompt: A Black Widow and Black Panther fic.

The Raft, the US Marshals were often proud to boast, was an ingenious underwater prison built to contain the world's the most dangerous individuals. It was located in the Atlantic Ocean and gave the term 'super-max' a whole new definition. The facility had 100 guards and 250 cameras focused on the cells and the corridors. The physical building itself was a type of submarine, submerged at all times unless there were authorised personnel booked in to enter or exit it.

It was impenetrable, they said. No one could possibly break out.

They had not considered the possibility of anyone trying to break  _in_.

That was what was going through Natasha's mind as T'Challa's plane slipped below the surface of the Atlantic Ocean, cutting through the water as they honed in on their target, because  _of course_  the plane was also a fucking submersible. After what had occurred in the last 72 hours, Natasha did not think anything could surprise her anymore.

"Are we all clear on the plan?" asked Steve, interrupting her thoughts.

Natasha nodded, forcing the emotions of out of her mind as she concentrated on what they were about to do.

"We use the plane's airlock to gain access to the prison," she said. "Steve and I go inside while T'Challa and Bucky stay here. On the inside, I'll keep our escape route safe, and you'll find the others and break them out of their cells. We'll all return to the plane via the airlock, seal up the Raft, and leave. Non-lethal force only. These guards aren't the enemy; they're just doing their jobs."

It was a deceptively simple-sounding plan. In reality, each stage of the plan was shrouded in danger and uncertainty. They only had T'Challa's word that his plane's airlock was suitable for the job. They did not know if the guards would be following Steve and Natasha's non-lethal force policy. They did not even know where exactly Clint, Sam, Wanda and Scott were being held on board the Raft.

There was every chance that Steve and Natasha could end up imprisoned in the cells alongside the very prisoners they were working to free, or simply end up drowned the moment they deployed the airlock if something went wrong with the mechanism.

Natasha breathed deeply, finding that her nerves were actually becoming calmer the further beneath the surface of the ocean they descended. The pressure of the mission did not unsettle her; she had been trained her whole life to operate under immense stress. If anything, it was a relief, to be forced to stop thinking about what had transpired since the signing of the Sokovia Accords and focus instead on something else.

She gazed out of the plane's window, staring through the murky depths of the ocean. It became progressively darker as they slipped further below the surface, with vision eventually becoming possible only because of the plane's headlights. Her ears popped. She yawned in an attempt to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling. She could feel the weight of the ocean on top of them. If anything were to go wrong now, they would instantly be crushed to death.

"There it is," said T'Challa quietly.

The Raft prison suddenly loomed up ahead of them in the darkness, the foreboding metal walls looking tough and intimidating in the dull light of the plane's headlights. The prison was a curious shape, considering it was a submarine. Rather than being tubular, like most submarines, it was circular. It looked rather like an enormous car tyre, floating horizontally in a way that was strangely eerie.

T'Challa cut the plane's engines – if one could still call it a plane whilst it was underwater – and steered them towards the underbelly of the prison. They cut through the water with the silent and deadly precision of a shark, zeroing in on their target with laser-like focus.

Natasha, Steve and Bucky held their breath, not daring to make a sound, as T'Challa coaxed the plane the final few metres into position, muttering to himself quietly in Wakandan. The plane came to a halt directly underneath one of the emergency airlocks that dotted the underside of the prison.

So far, so good.

Natasha winced slightly as T'Challa deployed the airlock on the plane, the machinery whirring noisily as it formed a perfect seal around the airlock on the Raft. There was a hissing sound as it locked on, followed by the sound of gushing water as it was expelled from the airlock.

Confined in their small plane, the sounds were horrifyingly loud. Natasha felt sure that their cover had been blown before the rescue mission had even begun, cursing herself for entrusting her life to a man she had known only for a matter of days.

"We're locked on," said T'Challa. "I'm unlocking the Raft's hatch now. Get ready to enter."

Natasha and Steve moved into position by the airlock, priming their night-night pistols in preparation. The night-night pistols had been developed by SHIELD and used a fast-acting chemical substance to render the targets unconscious. They were an effective, non-lethal alternative to bullets.

"How the hell does your plane have a mechanism to unlock submarine doors from the outside?" asked Bucky, peering over the top of Natasha's head to look at the complex machinery that was methodically working to open the Raft's hatch.

"Your country is not the only technologically-advanced nation in the world," said T'Challa.

They lapsed into silence as the machinery continued its work, the clicks and whirs filling the confined space. Natasha went through all the potential scenarios in her head: guards armed with guns, guards armed with batons, guards in groups, guards alone. She went through plans of action for each scenario, drawing on her instincts as much as her formal training. She had been raised in the Red Room Academy from the age of 3 to do exactly this kind of thing. At times like this, she was glad of the instincts it had given her: it was her ace in the hole.

She was brought abruptly from her thoughts by a loud metallic clunk. The machinery came to a sudden stop, the silence echoing around the small plane. Natasha's heart rate kicked up in a notch. She gripped her night-night pistol more tightly, wrapping her finger around the trigger.

With a pneumatic hiss, the submarine's hatch swung open, revealing the inside of the supposedly impenetrable Raft prison. 

"Let's go," whispered Steve.

Natasha nodded and squeezed through the airlock, hauling herself up through the small opening and scrambling to her feet. They appeared to be in a dimly lit storage area, surrounded by large metal crates. Steve dragged himself up through the opening and got to his feet, pointing towards a set of stairs that presumably led to the prison proper.

They ran across the floor and up the stairs silently, their rubber-soled shoes making no sound. Natasha pushed the door open and stepped out into the corridor, momentarily blinded by the comparative brightness of her surroundings.

A surprised shout from behind her had her spinning around and firing her night-night pistol at the source of the noise. The shout cut off abruptly, followed by a loud thump. Her eyes adjusted to the brightness to reveal a guard snoring on the floor at her feet, having apparently being guarding the very door Natasha had come through.

Steve emerged from the door and looked down at the unconscious guard.

"One down, 249 to go," he said.

The words had barely left his lips when the sound of running footsteps sounded from around the corner, having apparently been notified by their colleague's yell.

"Here come the 249," said Natasha. "Go and find the others."

Steve quietly slipped out of the back of the corridor just as several guards burst around the corner at the front. Natasha raised her night-night pistol and fired off several shots in quick succession, getting each of the guards squarely in the chest. They fell to the floor immediately, a sleeping heap of tangled limbs.

Natasha picked up the sound of more running, straining her ears to triangulate their location. To her horror, the sound seemed to be coming from both ends of the corridor. Quickly scanning her surroundings, she saw no cover, so she grabbed the first guard she had knocked unconscious and hauled him upright, holding him in front of her like a human shield.

The first set of guards rounded the corner at a sprint. At the sight of their unconscious colleague being held up by Natasha, they faltered. Natasha had no such reservations, squeezing her finger around the trigger repeatedly. The guards dropped to the ground instantly, many with their weapons still in their holsters.

Natasha turned to face the other end of the corridor in preparation for the second wave of guards she had heard approaching, but, strangely, found that she could no longer hear footsteps. She gently lowered the guard who had been acting as her shield to the floor and ran swiftly down the corridor. As she rounded it, she came face to face with a corridor littered with unconscious bodies; Steve had apparently taken care of them himself.

Smiling grimly, she jogged back to her position and resumed her stance. She could faintly hear commotion somewhere in the Raft, but it sounded at least several levels above her. She wondered if Steve had managed to find the others yet. She wondered about the conditions in which they were being kept. For the first time, she felt a pang of anxiety. She cared a great deal for the others. They were more than her team; they were her family.

Eventually, her ears picked up on the sound of more footsteps running towards her location. She raised her night-night pistol and aimed it at the corner from which the footsteps were approaching, wrapping her finger around the trigger. She breathed deeply, calming her nerves, preparing to shoot.

They rounded the corner.

Natasha instantly lowered her weapon.

Steve, Clint, Sam, Wanda and Scott sprinted towards her, the latter four dressed in blue prison jumpsuits. Wanda had some kind of collar around her neck; a red light blinked from it at one-second intervals. Sam had a large bruise on his cheek.

"Time to go," panted Steve. "All guards in this quadrant are out of action, but it won't take the others long to break past our barricades."

Natasha pulled open the door to the storage section and ran through it, gesturing for the others to follow her. They ran down the stairs two at a time, before weaving their way through the metal crates. Natasha led the way, picking her way back through the crates as she retraced her steps from earlier.

The hatch leading to T'Challa's plane came into view. She pointed to it so that the others would not miss it.

"Down here," she shouted.

She swung her legs over the lip of the airlock and allowed herself to fall through. She dropped gracefully into the plane, immediately moving out of the way so that the others could drop down too. Clint followed, crashing to the floor much less gracefully. The others followed in quick succession, with Steve taking up the rear.

"That's all of us," said Steve, addressing T'Challa. "Let's go."

"Stand back from the airlock," warned T'Challa.

They all moved to the back of the plane, strapping themselves into their seats as the machinery did the reverse of what it had done earlier, closing the hatch and locking it up, before sealing off the airlocks that connected the two submersibles.

With a metallic groan, the plane safely detached from the underside of the Raft prison. They did not get any warning before the plane suddenly put on a burst of speed, racing away from the submarine at fast as possible.

They continued going at high speed underwater for around 10 minutes, before bursting from the surface of the Atlantic Ocean and climbing higher and higher into the sky. They emerged above the clouds to glorious sunshine. It was beautiful, but the mood in the plane was subdued.

They travelled in silence for a long while before Wanda finally spoke. She sounded frightened and it was only then that Natasha remembered just how young she was.

"Where are we going?" asked Wanda.

"Wakanda," said T'Challa. "It is a safe place. I'll keep you protected. No one will find you there."

Wanda nodded, unconsciously tugging at the collar around her neck. Steve unbuckled himself from his seat to squat down in front of Wanda. He gently ran a finger between the collar and Wanda's neck, trying to feel for any release mechanism in the device.

"We'll get this off you as soon as we can," Steve said gently.

Wanda nodded, a few tears dripping down her cheeks.

Clint nudged Natasha in the side, drawing her attention.

"Thanks for busting us out of there," he whispered. "It was rough, especially for Wanda. I was getting really worried about her."

Natasha shrugged awkwardly, turning her face away to look out of the window. The bright sunshine was blinding as it reflected off the top of the clouds, but Natasha did not see it. Her thoughts were elsewhere, her mood dropping lower and lower as the adrenaline high of the Raft rescue mission wore off.

Finally, she had reached that dreaded point where she had nothing to distract her from what had occurred over the last couple of days. Her mind turned over the events endlessly, her inner self becoming more and more shell-shocked, depressed and devastated with each cycle of memories.

The Avengers were no more.

The team was split, perhaps permanently, in two.

The Sokovia Accords – a piece of legislation meant to give the UN control over the Avengers – had revealed a devastating split in ideology amongst the team. Whilst Tony, Vision and Rhodes had supported the UN's oversight of the team, Steve, Sam, Clint and Wanda had not. There had resulted a bitter battle in which Rhodes had been left paralysed and many of Steve's team had been imprisoned in the Raft. Now, even though those teammates had been released from the Raft, deep wounds remained.

The team had been her family and, now, they were torn in two.

She swallowed back nausea, attempting to force her mind into a state of marble: strong, rigid, emotionless. It did not work. She was overwhelmed by shock. It felt as though her life had been uprooted.

Home had never been a place, for her; it had been people. And now, those people were broken and scattered and Natasha was left drifting, off-kilter, in a plane filled with fugitives, going into hiding.

It was ridiculous.

This time last week, they had been happy and whole.

Clint looked at her in concern, obviously confused about why she had not replied when he had spoken.

"Natasha?" he said. "What's up?"

Natasha's throat swelled shut with emotion. Her family was broken. This was too much to take in, too terrible, too personal. She could not open her mouth, because if she did, she would start sobbing, and if she started, she would not be able to stop.

So, instead, she turned away from Clint towards the aeroplane window, and remained silent.

 

* * *

 

Wakanda was a beautiful country.

As the aeroplane began its descent over lush green jungle and huge, stunning waterfalls, many of the others made noises of admiration. It was exotic. It was gorgeous. It was a safe place, far away from the United Nations and the United States who were no doubt searching for them high and low.

And whilst Natasha knew that she should be feeling awe at the natural beauty of the place, or relief that T'Challa was being so kind as to give them sanctuary when they most needed it, all she felt was a raw kind of emptiness.

The stunning African nation was not home.

T'Challa's offer of safety did nothing to bring the two halves of the Avengers any closer to reconciliation.

Natasha bit her lip, fighting back uncharacteristic tears that threatened to spill over onto her cheeks. Clint pointed out of the window, trying to get her involved in the conversation that was flowing around them.

"Have you ever seen a waterfall as massive as that?" he asked. "It makes Niagara Falls look like a kitchen tap."

Whilst his tone was light, Natasha could tell that Clint was anxious about her lack of interaction. Guilt piled on top of her depression. She did not want Clint to worry about her. He already had so much on his plate, like what he was going to do about contacting his family back in the US. He had a wife and three young children. He must have been going out of his mind with worry. He did not need to worry about her too.

In an attempt to ease his concern, Natasha forced a smile and shook her head. It was true; she never had seen a waterfall as large as the one they were currently passing over. She watched the others point and smile with curiosity and excitement, but when she searched within herself for the same feelings, she drew a blank.

She was saved from any further expectation of speaking or social interaction by T'Challa skilfully landing the plane on a small mountainside runway. The plane landed with a bump, rumbling over the smooth tarmac as they decelerated. Once they had rolled to a halt, T'Challa unbuckled himself from his seat, motioning for them to do the same.

They complied with his request, unbuckling themselves and getting to their feet, finally stretching their legs after the long journey. They turned towards T'Challa, awaiting instructions, and Natasha was taken by the sudden notion that they were like the world's strangest party on a school trip.

"Welcome to Wakanda," smiled T'Challa. "This is one of my more secure private residences. It is equipped with world-class medical facilities and accommodation suites. You're all welcome here for as long as you need."

He pressed a button on the side of the pilot's control panel, lowering a ramp at the back of the plane. He led the way off the aircraft, the rest of them following along in his wake.

Natasha looked around, confused. They did not appear to be anywhere near any kind of residential palace or compound. They seemed to be on the side of a large, rocky mountain overlooking a lush jungle in the valley below. It was wild and natural, not the location of a world-class medical facility or any kind of human accommodation.

T'Challa seemed to notice her confusion, as he smiled mischievously.

"The hologram is convincing, no?" he said.

_Hologram?_

Natasha looked more closely at the mountain. At first, it appeared as entirely convincing as ever: blank and dark and rocky. Now that she was examining it more keenly, however, there was something about it that seemed slightly off. She could not quite put her finger to it. It looked, if anything, too perfect. It was too sharp, too still, to be entirely natural.

"Hologram?" asked Scott. "Are you telling me we're not actually standing on a mountain right now?"

T'Challa laughed, his whole face lighting up with amusement.

"This  _is_ a mountain," said T'Challa. "But what you cannot see from here are the windows and balconies that the hologram conceals. My residence is inside the mountain, with the most beautiful views of the valley."

He walked them forwards towards what appeared to be the smooth stone face of the mountain and, without any hesitation, thrust his hand  _through_ the rock. They all stared in shock at the sight of his arm apparently disappearing into the rock face, their brains not being able to compute the visual strangeness of what they were seeing even though on a rational level they knew that the 'rock' that T'Challa currently had his arm inside was actually a holographic illusion.

There was a clunking noise and then the unmistakeable sound of a metal door being swung open. T'Challa smiled as he looked around the small band of renegades gathered around him.

"Follow me," he said – before walking straight into the rock face of the mountain and vanishing from view.

They stared at the rock face – the very solid-looking rock face – with something akin to trepidation. They collectively startled when T'Challa's voice came through the rock face; he was obviously standing just a few feet away from them.

"It's a hologram," he said patiently. "Walking through it doesn't hurt."

Natasha steeled herself and walked briskly towards the rock face. She closed her eyes just before she reached it, her brain unable to dismiss the notion that she was about to crash face-first into a solid, painful obstacle. She grimaced, waiting for the pain.

She stepped through the hologram harmlessly, opening her eyes to find herself in a large, luxurious-looking atrium. She turned around to look at the doorway she had just stepped through. From this side of the hologram, it looked like a perfectly normal doorway, with only a slight shimmer revealing that there was anything amiss. The others were stood just a few feet away, staring at the doorway with their mouths agog.

Shaking his head, Steve stepped through the hologram, his blue eyes widening with shock as he stepped into the atrium. He turned around to look at the entrance with amazement, calling out for the others to step through and join them. The others entered in quick succession, until all of their party were stood in a little semi-circle, looking around with evident curiosity.

"Let me give you a tour," said T'Challa.

He led them through the atrium into a beautiful marble-titled lift. They squeezed inside, only just managing to fit, and then they were ascending. They emerged into what was obviously a medical facility: there were white clean surfaces and through the various side doors there were wards visible. Two doctors were waiting for them, smiling politely.

"Bucky, Wanda," said T'Challa. "I thought you would like to come here first."

Bucky and Wanda murmured their thanks and stepped out of the lift. The ruined remains of Bucky's mangled prosthetic arm twitched anxiously. Wanda tugged the collar that was lashed tightly around her neck, looking relieved that it would soon be removed. The doctors stepped forwards to greet them, leading them towards two separate treatment rooms.

The lift doors slid shut. They began ascending once more and this time when they stopped, T'Challa motioned for them all to follow him out. They stepped out onto a floor that was much more homely, although no less luxurious, than the others. The walls were painted a warm ochre colour, with stunning African paintings hanging from them. The floor was carpeted with plush rugs and the lighting was warm and muted.

"This is the communal floor where you will be living," said T'Challa. "There's a living room, dining hall, bedrooms and a balcony overlooking the valley. If you have any requests, don't hesitate to ask the staff."

He walked them through into the living room, which was fitted with large squashy sofas and rustic mahogany coffee tables. They went from there into the dining hall, a high-ceilinged room with a large banqueting table and yet more beautiful art on the walls. T'Challa finally led them through to the balcony, which afforded them exquisite views of the lush green valley below.

Natasha bit her lip.

The entire place was grand and certainly beautiful, but it was not home.

Home was Stark Tower, where she had lived with the rest of the Avengers only last week. This was objectively a much more luxurious place to live, but it did not give Natasha any sense of belonging that Stark Tower had done. She swallowed, but the bitter taste of homesickness remained.

She drifted on auto-pilot as T'Challa led them back through the dining hall and down a corridor to their bedrooms. Someone was talking, but she could not concentrate on what they were saying, because she could not shake the feeling of wrongness that they were here, thousands of miles from the rest of the team, and that this was to be their home for the foreseeable future.

"Hey!" said Clint, louder this time. "Nat, what's wrong? You've not said a word since we left the Raft."

Natasha turned around to face her best friend, taking in with a pang of regret the obvious concern plastered across his face. Clint reached out and took her gently by the shoulders. Natasha closed her eyes at the familiarity of the touch. He had done this many times when she had first escaped the KGB and moved in with him and his family at the farmhouse. He would do it to ground her in the present, whenever her mind started to wander and remember the horrors of what she had left behind.

"Are you with me?" he asked. "Natasha, talk to me."

Natasha looked at him, at his worried blue eyes, and wanted to say something to comfort him. But the words died on her lips when T'Challa opened one of the bedroom doors to show them what it looked like, and it hit her: this was their home now. They were here, and Tony and the others were in New York. They were broken.

Natasha blinked back tears and wordlessly pushed past Clint into the next bedroom.

She slammed the door shut, crawled onto the bed and curled up on top of the covers, a deep ache tugging heavily at her heart.

 

* * *

 

One week later, Natasha still had not spoken.

She knew that the others were becoming increasingly worried about her mutism, but she could not bring herself to speak. She felt that, if she opened her mouth, all her grief would pour out and she would be left an empty, hollow husk.

Presently, they were eating breakfast in the dining hall. Steve, Sam and Clint were discussing how Clint could safely contact his family, whilst Wanda and Scott were talking about how the Ant-Man suit worked. Natasha sat amongst it all, letting the noise wash over her. She felt strangely detached from it all; numb and distant and heavy.

She felt eyes on her and looked up to find T'Challa looking at her strangely. When Natasha met his gaze, he smiled, although the concerned look did not entirely leave his eyes.

"Are you well, Natasha?" he asked.

 _No_ , Natasha wanted to say, _I'm not. We're not a team anymore. We're broken and everything hurts._

She was saved from speaking, however, by Bucky suddenly speaking up for the first time that morning. That in itself was highly unusual. He normally got involved in conversations, particularly with Steve. Now, he looked pale and drawn.

"I need to make an announcement," he said.

The others all turned to look at Bucky curiously. He was fiddling with his spoon with his right hand, twirling it over and over between his fingers. The stump of his left arm had been covered by a black rubber cap, courtesy of the Wakandan doctors. Bucky looked uncharacteristically nervous, as if he was about to deliver a speech in front of a whole auditorium of people, rather than to a small group of seven around a table at breakfast.

Natasha cocked her head to the side, waiting for him to continue. Steve was looking increasingly concerned as Bucky visibly sweated under the scrutiny; he was not usually an anxious man.

"I've been talking a lot with the doctors here," said Bucky, exhaling shakily, "and I've– I've decided to go back into cryo-freeze."

_What?_

A stunned silence followed Bucky's announcement. The expressions around the table ranged from shocked to saddened to confused. Steve was staring at Bucky with unconcealed panic and heartbreak, his eyes wide and his face pale with shock.

"I think it's the safest option," continued Bucky. "Until we can work out how to get the Winter Soldier programming out of my head, I'm dangerous."

There was a beat of silence, and then Steve was sobbing, the noise loud and wrenching and horrific. For the first time, she truly appreciated that this was the first time that Steve and Bucky had been reunited – with Bucky being fully in control of his own mind – since when they had been soldiers together in World War II. For Steve to have waited so long, and then for that friendship to be ripped away from him once more, must be horrendous.

The others rushed to comfort Steve. Bucky pulled him into a tight hug and the others crowded around him, talking to him and giving him reassuring touches. Natasha longed to join them and comfort him, but everything felt so numb. She found herself glued to her seat. Words of platitude drifted across her mind but faded before they could make their way to her lips. Her throat was tight; too tight to speak, too tight to barely breathe.

She jumped as something touched her hand. T'Challa, seemingly sensing her distress, had taken her hand and was rubbing it steadily with his own. The look in his eyes was serious and earnest.

"Everything will be OK," he said.

Natasha blinked at him in surprise. She had become so distant, so disenfranchised with the idea of being part of a team that she was genuinely surprised that anyone cared about her. She had not expected to be comforted, especially by T'Challa. That very fact made her wonder just how broken they had become.

Once the tears were shed and the goodbyes said  _(Natasha did not speak, but Bucky did not expect her to, so that was OK)_ , Natasha watched as Bucky, Steve and T'Challa went off in the direction of the lift to go to the medical floor.

When Steve returned later, alone, he was in tears.

 

* * *

 

Bucky had been cryo-frozen for one month now.

Steve, Sam, Clint, Scott and Wanda were currently away from the compound. They had become restless and were on a mission hunting a suspected HYDRA cell in western Africa. They had asked Natasha if she had wanted to join them, but her continued lack of speech and general lethargy had led to her silently declining the offer.

Just Natasha and T'Challa and the compound's staff remained on-site. During the days, Natasha would drag herself out of bed and use the gym to keep up her fitness. She would go for long walks outside, but it felt as though she was doing these activities on auto-pilot. She found no joy in her actions. She could see no beauty in the landscape.

T'Challa was usually out during the days, performing a mixture of his royal and Black Panther duties, but he always returned in the evenings. They would eat dinner together every night. At first, when it had become just the two of them, it had been awkward. Natasha was still not talking, and T'Challa had not at first known how to handle the silence.

It had not taken long, however, for them to settle into a routine. T'Challa would talk about his day, and Natasha found that she enjoyed listening to him. He was intelligent, witty and had a keen interest in science and politics. He could converse about a wide range of subjects, and dinner time quickly became Natasha's favourite time of the day.

One day, as they were eating, T'Challa asked Natasha a question.

"Do you not speak because you  _cannot_ speak, or because you don't  _want_ to?"

Natasha stiffened, immediately self-conscious of the strangeness of her situation. She glared down at the table, angry at herself for being so weak that she could speak out loud. T'Challa slid a notepad and pen across the table so that they sat in front of her, an open invitation to engage in a form of conversation.

Natasha stared down at the blank paper, a sense of yearning tugging at her heart. Tentatively, she picked up the pen and began to write.

_I can't speak. I'm hurting too much._

T'Challa leant forwards to read the upside-down writing. His dark eyes swept over the messily scribbled sentences and he nodded. He looked up at Natasha and gave her a serious look.

"Are you happy to write?" he asked. "You don't have to, if that hurts too."

Natasha thought about it for a couple of minutes. Writing certainly felt less risky than speaking. She did not feel that she would necessarily break down from writing, as she felt she might do from speaking. Perhaps, it was something that could work. Certainly, it was something she felt strong enough to try.

_Yes._

T'Challa read the single word and smiled, his face lighting up with joy. He looked up at Natasha with a grin, obviously thrilled to have opened up a line of communication between them.

"Tell me about yourself," he said eagerly.

Natasha hesitated. Very few people knew about her past. In fact, she could count them on one hand: Clint, Laura, Phil, Nick and Steve. As much as she was immensely thankful to T'Challa for giving her sanctuary, they were not close enough for her to divulge details of her origins – not even close.

_There's not much to say._

T'Challa laughed, giving her a wry smile.

"That's not true," he said. "Everyone has a story to tell. I bet you have an incredible backstory."

Natasha thought about the Red Room Academy. She thought of Elena and James and Madame B. She thought about the KGB and Dimitri. She thought about being an Avenger, about the Barton's farmhouse and the flat she had shared with Phil. She considered all of it, and shrugged.

T'Challa, seeing that Natasha was not going to go down that avenue of conversation, changed the subject.

"What is your favourite animal?" he asked.

Natasha's eyebrows shot up. Of all the questions she had expected, she had not expected that. She smiled, touched and thankful that T'Challa had seen her discomfort and immediately steered the conversation towards something much more manageable. She cocked her head to the side, thinking. She had never owned a pet. It was a difficult question. Finally, she wrote her reply.

_I like cats._

T'Challa read her answer and smiled.

"I like cats, too," he said.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Natasha awoke abruptly.

She had the vague notion that her bedroom door had just closed, although she had no conscious memory of it. She lay rigidly in bed, immediately alert. The staff never entered her room without knocking, and never so early in the morning.

Her hand drifted underneath her pillow and grasped her gun. She pulled it out silently, her finger on the guard, ready to flick it off. She strained her eyes, struggling to see in the darkness. She could not make out anyone in her room, but she knew from experience that that did not mean there was no one there.

She inched towards the edge of the bed, ready to jump up and spring into action, when she heard it. There  _was_  someone in her room. She could hear a strange scratching noise by the door. Someone was there, only metres away from her in the darkness. As fast as she could, she rolled out of bed and slammed on the lamp by her bed, flicking off her gun's guard and wrapping her finger around the trigger at the same moment.

The bedside lamp flooded the room with light.

For a moment, Natasha looked around wildly. She had expected to see some black-clad individual wielding a weapon, but instead she could see no-one at all. Her gaze dropped to the floor and she took an involuntary step backwards in surprise.

Huddled in the corner of her bedroom was a cat.

It was an ugly little thing: obviously malnourished and with its black hair all matted and in clumps. It had several large scars along its face and back. It stared at Natasha with its right eye, which was large, yellow and bulging. Its left eye was missing.

It was possibly the most hideous cat Natasha had ever seen in her life.

Her heart melted as she gazed at it, a smile forming on her face. She placed her gun down on the bedside table and walked towards the cat in a slow, non-threatening manner. She bent down when she reached it, holding out her hand for the cat to sniff.

The cat jerked away from her hand and hissed loudly, scratching her arm with one swift paw before bolting across the room and hiding deep underneath the bed.

Natasha looked down at her arm at where beads of blood were beginning to form from where the cat had scratched her and turned to look underneath the bed, where one yellow eye was glaring at her stubbornly.

She smiled back at it and, for the first time in over a month, spoke aloud.

"So, that's the way it's going to be, is it?"

 

* * *

 

One week later, when she was eating dinner with T'Challa, he brought up the one topic she had been fervently hoping he would avoid.

"Why don't you get in contact with Tony and his team?" he asked. "You could write them a letter. I can ensure it won't be traced back here."

Natasha froze, her mouthful of chicken suddenly seeming to lose its taste as she chewed on it slowly. Finally, she swallowed it and looked up. T'Challa was looking at the notepad and pen by her hand, obviously expecting her to write her reply. Reluctantly, she picked up her pen and wrote the one thing she could think of to delay answering.

_Why?_

T'Challa read her reply and sighed sadly.

"I know that you used to talk," he said. "I assume the reason you do not talk anymore is because you are upset about the break-up of your team."

They were not just her team, she thought; they were her family. She had never particularly understood the concept of family when she was growing up. At the Red Room Academy, there had been teachers and fellow students, but they had never felt like family. There had been no love, no sense of loyalty, no sense of belonging. She had had one friend – Elena – but that had not ended well.

Living with Clint upon her escape from Russia, and later becoming a SHIELD agent and an Avenger, had given her her first taste of family. They had fought together. They had lived together. They had loved one another. Natasha had finally allowed herself to open herself up them and share the highs and lows of life with them. They had laughed together. They had cried together. They had shared memories and secrets and holidays. The Avengers were the only family she had ever known – or rather, they had been. Past tense.

She bit her lip, her chest aching, unable to speak.

T'Challa seemed to sense that she did not want to talk (or rather, write) about the break-up of the team, because he changed the subject.

"How is the cat?"

Natasha took a moment to compose herself and then scribbled down her response.

_Her name is Midnight._

T'Challa smiled as he read her reply.

"Apologies. How is Midnight?"

_She hates me._

T'Challa hummed thoughtfully.

"The animal shelter said she hates everybody. When I arrived, they were about to put her down because they considered her unhomeable."

Natasha blinked, shocked. She had not realised the cat had come so close to being killed. She felt a rush of protective anger. No one would lay a finger on the cat, so long as Natasha was around to protect her, she thought fiercely.

_I'm trying to get her to trust me, but it's proving difficult. I feed her and give her water, but whenever I try to touch her, she runs away and hides._

"You have noticed her scars?" said T'Challa.

Natasha nodded.

"To me, they look as though they were not done by another animal," said T'Challa. "Humans caused those scars, I am sure of it. It is because of Midnight's traumatic past with humans, I think, that she runs away from you."

His soft Wakandan accent turned hard with anger and bitterness at the cruelty that humans were capable of.

"The cat reminds me of you," he said.

Natasha stared at him in surprise. Picking up her pen, she scrawled a reply.

_I don't have any scars._

Not visible ones, anyway, she thought. There was no way T'Challa could have seen the two scars on her abdomen.

T'Challa gazed at her sadly.

"Not all scars are physical," he said.

 

* * *

 

Natasha tried various methods to befriend the cat. She tried to play with it using an old sock attached to a length of string. She tried to stroke it when it was eating. She tried to comb it.

Whenever she attempted to touch it, however, it would hiss at her loudly and either attempt to scratch her or simply run away.

The cat had been living at the compound for well over a month now, yet it was still just as hostile towards Natasha as it had been on day one.

At least it was a healthier weight, though, and its fur had been cleaned and combed, courtesy of some particularly brave staff members who had been wearing thick gardening gloves at the time to protect them from Midnight's furious claws.

The cat liked to sleep underneath Natasha's bed and, sometimes, if Natasha listened carefully, she would be able to hear the feline's tiny snores beneath her.

On this particular night, Midnight was sleeping in her usual spot beneath Natasha's bed. The two of them were fast asleep when a loud siren suddenly blared out noisily. Natasha sat bolt upright in bed, dazed and disoriented as the alarm blasted out of the speakers, which sounded like they were positioned directly above her head.

She winced against the noise, clamping her hands over her ears. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. In the echoing silence left after the alarm, the intercom system clicked on.

"This was a fire alarm test. Thank you for your cooperation."

Natasha huffed out a sigh of relief. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, slightly annoyed that they had decided to do the test in the middle of the night rather than a more socially considerate time, but, she supposed, it was their compound. It was their right to do things however they wanted.

It was then that she remembered her unsociable roommate and she strained her ears, trying to detect if she could hear Midnight anywhere in the room.

"Midnight?" she called out.

As soon as the word had left her lips, she heard a mad scramble of claws on the floor beneath her bed. With a frightened yowl, something small jumped up onto the bed and pressed tightly against Natasha's side.

Natasha strained her eyes in the darkness, astonished, as Midnight let out a loud meow and burrowed into the duvet, trying to get closer to Natasha's side. Natasha cautiously reached out and laid a hand on Midnight's torso, wary of claws or sharp teeth, but instead of attacking her, Midnight pressed against Natasha's hand, as if seeking her protection.

Now that they were touching, Natasha could feel that Midnight was shaking badly, letting out those heartbreakingly terrified meows and cries every now and then. Natasha slowly stroked the cat, holding it close and murmuring to it gently and constantly. She wondered if the loud noise had reminded Midnight of when she had been beaten and abused by humans. She wished, more than anything, that she could punish those disgusting people who had dared to hurt this defenceless creature.

"It's OK," whispered Natasha. "It was just a fire alarm. You're safe. Shh..."

Finally, perhaps half an hour later, Midnight's shaking came to a stop. Calmed down at last, Natasha expected the cat to jump back off the bed and return to her usual position underneath the bed.

For the second time that night, Natasha received a huge surprise.

Midnight began to purr, before curling up next to Natasha and falling asleep.

 

* * *

 

It was as if a switch had been flicked.

Midnight had gone from hostile and anti-social to affectionate and loving literally overnight.

Now, she followed Natasha everywhere, accompanying her around the compound and onto the balconies and even to the bathroom. She would sleep curled up next to Natasha and lick her eyebrows to wake her up in the morning.

This active affection was reserved only for Natasha, but as Midnight became more settled in the compound, her aggression towards the staff and T'Challa also faded into a kind of aloof indifference.

Presently, Natasha was having dinner with T'Challa as Midnight lay sleeping in the chair next to her.

"You have acquired a second shadow," smiled T'Challa. "The cat follows you everywhere."

Natasha smiled as she looked down at the cat curled up in the seat beside her. She reached out and gave Midnight a gentle stroke, prompting a sleepy purr from the animal.

Finishing the last of her food, she picked up her pen and began to write.

_The fire alarm changed everything. She was terrified, so I comforted her. Ever since then, she's been a completely different cat._

T'Challa smiled as he read her reply.

"She must think of you as some kind of mighty protector," he said.

Natasha smiled and took a sip from her drink. She had not thought of herself in that way, but yes, she did feel a great deal of protectiveness over Midnight. Not in a possessive way, but in a way that meant she was willing to fight to protect this animal from anyone who might try to harm it. She looked at Midnight's scars and felt a lick of anger.

"I was wondering, why are cats your favourite animal?" asked T'Challa. "What qualities of theirs do you admire?"

Natasha looked down at Midnight. She thought about how tough the little animal must be, to have received such cruelty and yet continued on, even finding it within herself to trust humans again.

Natasha picked up her pen and wrote her reply.

_They're quiet, resilient and independent. They're tough. We have a saying: cats have 9 lives._

"Did you deliberately choose a favourite animal that shares its qualities with you?" asked T'Challa.

Natasha looked at T'Challa in surprise. She shook her head.

T'Challa gazed out of the dining hall's wide window, looking pensive.

"Perhaps that is a coincidence, then," he murmured, almost to himself, but returning to his senses and looking back at Natasha with a small smile. "There are other qualities too, that you share with cats."

Natasha cocked her head to the side inquisitively.

 _Like what?_  she wrote.

"Cats can be fierce but also very gentle," said T'Challa, smiling at her. "And despite their reputation for being fickle, they can actually be very loyal, if you respect them and bond with them properly."

Natasha ducked her head, embarrassed. She had never been particularly good at receiving praise. It was not something she was used to. When she had been growing up, she had been praised for her talent with a gun, or for her spying abilities; she had never been praised for being gentle or loyal.

"And there's one other thing," said T'Challa, a smile curving his lips. "You're silent on your feet. One of the staff wants to put a bell on you so that she can hear you coming. I told her that if she were to ever try putting a bell around your neck,  _she_ would be the one to end up wearing it."

Without thinking, Natasha laughed out loud.

T'Challa's eyes widened.

She did not realise it, then, but Natasha had just publically vocalised for the first time since her arrival, 3 months before.

 

* * *

 

As much as Natasha was happy that Midnight now liked her, she was concerned that the cat was becoming too clingy.

When she would eventually go back into the field, she would not be able to take the cat with her. It was important that Midnight did not become too dependent on Natasha's constant presence. Natasha wanted the cat to be comfortable with being left alone, so that when Natasha did eventually leave for a mission, she would not be too upset.

With this in mind, on this particular night, she decided to lock Midnight out of her bedroom. So that Midnight would not be left without a comfortable place to sleep, she placed a soft round cat bed outside the door, hoping that Midnight would simply curl up and go to sleep there.

As with all the best laid plans, however, it did not go as she had hoped.

As Natasha lay in bed, Midnight began scratching at the door. Natasha swallowed back the feeling of guilt, rolling onto her side so that she did not have to look at the door, and tried to go to sleep.

_Scratch scratch scratch._

Natasha pulled her pillow over her head, trying to block out the constant scratching. It was beginning to get under her skin. Annoyance slowly crept up on her, causing her to frown. She looked at the digital clock beside her bed.

22:55.

_Scratch scratch scratch._

23:15

_Scratch scratch scratch._

23:30

_Scratch scratch scratch._

00:00

_Scratch scratch scratch._

"Meow."

Natasha snapped. She jumped out of bed, striding towards the door and yanking it open. Midnight was sat right outside the door, her single yellow eye bulging as she looked up at Natasha.

"Shut up!" shouted Natasha.

Midnight flinched and turned around, sprinting down the corridor and disappearing out of sight towards the communal living room. Natasha felt a wave of guilt crash over her. The cat had not meant any harm. She had simply wanted to sleep on Natasha's bed; the place where she felt safest. Natasha bit her lip, regret weighing heavily on her heart.

"She'll come back eventually," said a voice directly behind her.

Natasha turned around, finding herself face to face with T'Challa, who was wearing cream-coloured pyjamas and a smile. Natasha's hand jumped to her mouth. T'Challa had heard her shout; there was no way he could not have done, if he had been out in the corridor.

"Hey," said T'Challa gently. "Despite the fact you were shouting, you have a very nice voice."

Natasha stood in silence for a long while. On the inside, though, her thoughts were racing. She felt stronger now, she realised, she was much more mentally sturdy than she had been when she had first arrived in the compound 4 months ago. She felt safe here. She felt safe with T'Challa. He was a good man, a friend, someone she trusted.

Perhaps it was possible, just maybe, that she could open her mouth and not crumble.

She slowly licked her lips, terror and hope and adrenaline and relief all coursing through her.

She looked T'Challa in the eye and replied softly.

"Hey."

 

* * *

 

Natasha's mutism had finally been broken, and she found it a relief.

She had not realised how constrictive it had been, to write on paper. She had not been able to write anywhere near as fast as she could talk. She had not been able to fully express herself as she had wanted.

Now, Natasha was making up for lost time. She found great joy in talking to T'Challa and members of staff at the compound. Talking to T'Challa at mealtimes became her favourite activity. They talked about everything. She bombarded him with questions about his life, his work and whether he had heard from the others, who were still out hunting HYDRA cells across Africa.

Apparently, they had been in contact with him just a few days before, to say that they had successfully taken apart a cell in Nigeria. Natasha grinned. Maybe she should meet up with them for their next mission, to help track down and bring to justice those cells that remained.

"How's Midnight?" asked T'Challa, changing the subject. "I've noticed that she's becoming friendlier with me and my staff. Has she forgiven you for shouting at her?"

Natasha flushed with shame. She felt extremely guilty for having shouted at the cat. It had been a single moment of weakness, brought on by frustration and a lack of sleep. Thankfully, Midnight had not held a grudge.

"She's forgiven me," said Natasha. "She's becoming more confident at being left alone, too, which is good. She still prefers to be near me than be alone, but she doesn't scratch or meow if I leave her alone anymore."

T'Challa smiled, his eyes crinkling in a way showed he was genuinely happy.

"When you decide to leave to join the others on their mission, I'll look stay here to look after Midnight, if you wish," he said.

Natasha stared at him in surprise. She shook her head immediately, unable to accept such a generous offer.

"You don't have to do that," she said. "You're the King of Wakanda; you have more important things to do."

T'Challa smiled.

"Much of my work can be done from this compound," he said. "So long as there's no emergency that needs attending to, I can stay here and look after Midnight if I want. It's one of the perks of being King."

Natasha laughed, not entirely sure if he was joking or being serious, but touched that he would make such an offer nonetheless.

"I'm glad that you are getting better," said T'Challa softly. "And I'm glad you have a friend in Midnight. Did you have many friends growing up?"

Natasha lapsed into silence. She had not told T'Challa about her childhood. It was a painful subject, one that she had barely shared with anyone. She had friends, good friends, who had no idea about her past. It was a topic that she would only consider even mentioning to those people who she trusted completely.

She looked at T'Challa, her eyes roving over his face, weighing his value. Did she trust him with something as massive as this?

She thought about how he had helped to save the others from the Raft. She thought about how he had opened up his home to them. She thought about how he had devoted himself to helping Natasha recover from her mutism in a completely low-pressure way that had not felt remotely like therapy, even though that had been exactly what it was.

Yes, she decided, she did trust him.

"Friendship was forbidden at the Red Room Academy," she said. "That's the name of the school where I grew up. My teacher, Madame B, taught us that love and friendship were weaknesses that needed to be obliterated."

She looked up, half-expecting T'Challa to be looking at her with a mixture of blame and disgust. Instead, although his face wore an expression of horror, there was no judgement in his eyes. He remained silent, apparently speechless that such a school could exist. Natasha almost laughed; the Red Room Academy's no-friendship policy was one of its least extreme rules.

"I did have two friends though," she said. "Secret friends. One was a girl in my year: Elena. The other was an old man who lived in a nearby farmhouse: James."

T'Challa smiled, apparently regaining his power of speech.

"Tell me about Elena and James," he said.

Natasha's breath caught in her throat. It felt so strange, to hear their names said aloud, so many years after they had died. It felt important, though, to talk about them; to keep their memory alive and to honour them.

"Elena had the biggest, warmest brown eyes you could imagine," said Natasha. "She had dark brown hair and she was fit, well-built, not skinny. She was kind, really kind. The first day I was brought to the Red Room Academy, she played with me. We hid in a cupboard and pretended it was magic. When we got older, we'd talk about everything together. One summer, when Madame B was ill, we got some free time and went out to have a picnic in the meadows that surrounded the school. We sat up this huge beech tree and ate strawberries.

"James was a wonderful man. He had this amazing curly white hair and brown eyes. He was Jewish and had been imprisoned in a concentration camp during World War II, and even though it was painful, he made a point to talk about it, so that it wouldn't be forgotten. He had this real belief in freedom and kindness. He didn't have any children of his own, but I think he would have made a great father. He was patient, warm and loving. He was like a father to me."

T'Challa smiled, somehow looking both happy and sad at the same time. Perhaps he noted Natasha's use of the past tense, because when he next spoke, he used it too.

"They sound like they were wonderful people," he said.

Natasha nodded, her throat tight.

"They were," she said.

 

* * *

 

Two months later, Natasha returned with the others to the compound, covered in sweat and dirt.

They had been out hunting down a HYDRA cell that had been hiding right underneath their noses in Wakanda itself, and it had been a tough fight.

Natasha, Clint and Sam had secured the perimeter, whilst Steve, Wanda and Scott had gone in with their night-night pistols and confronted the targets. All had gone well, until the HYDRA agents had used some kind of stunning device and knocked out Steve and Wanda. Scott had been unable to deal with them all himself, and the battle had spilled outside.

Luckily, the combined efforts of Natasha, Clint, Sam and Scott had been enough to take down the remaining HYDRA agents, but Steve and Wanda were still suffering from painful headaches as they re-entered T'Challa's mountainside compound.

Medical staff converged on them as they entered, giving them sunglasses and tablets to take the edge off the pain.

They all went up to the communal living area, collapsing on the sofas as they nursed their bruised and aching muscles.

All of them, that was, but Natasha. She paced back and forth, invigorated with a fresh sense of purpose. This had been her first mission back in the field, and she had forgotten how good it felt. This was what she was meant to do: save people, fight the bad guys, defend good.

She felt, more acutely than ever, a sense of loss from being apart from Tony, Vision and Rhodes.

"We've got to contact them," she said abruptly.

The others looked at her in confusion. Steve, who looked ridiculous an ice pack strapped to his forehead and sunglasses shielding his eyes, nonetheless sat up and focused his attention on her.

"Them?" he asked. His tone of voice was strained. Despite what he had said, it was obvious Steve knew who Natasha was referring to.

" _Tony_ ," said Natasha, forcefully. "Team Iron Man. Whatever you want to call them, you know who I mean."

The others exchanged sad glances. It had been a kind of unspoken rule that they would not mention Tony or what had happened after the Sokovia Accords. It was still painful, for all of them. Natasha realised, however, that these wounds would not heal by themselves. They needed to re-establish contact, to send their best wishes, even if they might be met with hostility and anger.

"Natasha's right," said Clint quietly. "We need to reach out to them, let them know we still care. They're our friends."

"They're our  _family_ ," corrected Natasha.

They lapsed into silence. For a long while, nobody spoke, each of them lost in their own thoughts about what to do.

"We could send them a cell phone to get in contact with us," Steve said finally. "And write a letter explaining our position. Or rather,  _I_ should. I'm the one who started this. I'm the one who dragged you guys into this mess. It's got to come from me, first and foremost."

The others nodded in agreement. Natasha reached into her back pocket and pulled out the notepad that, until not-so-recently, had been her sole method of communication. She placed it and a pen on the table in front of Steve.

Steve stared at the notepad for a long while, tears misting his eyes. Natasha looked at him and saw the weight of his regret, his sadness, his heartbreak. There was a lot of pain there, and it would not disappear by itself. They needed to reach out. They needed to offer an olive branch. They needed to let Tony know that, despite their differing political opinions, they were there for him.

With tears rolling down his cheeks, Steve picked up the pen and began to write.

 

* * *

 

_Dear Tony,_

_I'm glad you're back at the compound. I don't like the idea of you rattling around a mansion by yourself. We all need family; the Avengers are yours – maybe more so than mine._

_I've been on my own since I was 18. I never really fit in anywhere, even in the Army. My faith's in people, I guess; individuals. I'm happy to say that, for the most part, they haven't let me down._

_I know I hurt you, Tony. I guess I thought by not telling you about your parents, I was sparing you, but I can see now that I was really sparing myself, and I'm sorry. Hopefully, one day, you can understand._

_I wish we agreed on the Accords, I really do. I know you're doing what you believe in, and that's all any of us can do. That's all any of us should. So, no matter what, I promise you, if you need us, if you need me, I'll be there._

_Steve_

 

* * *

 

They tracked the parcel containing the mobile phone and the letter to the Avengers' compound. Tony signed for the parcel, so they knew he received it, but they did not hear anything back.

It had been weeks, now, and still Tony had not called them, or made any kind of public statement, explicit or cryptic, about their getting in touch.

Natasha sat in the living room with the others. They were throwing a ball between them to entertain Midnight, although the cat was currently more preoccupied with happily attacking Clint's shoelaces. Clint bent over to tickle Midnight's ears, causing the cat to purr.

Natasha smiled.

Midnight was a million miles from the terrified, traumatised cat that T'Challa had saved from the animal shelter all those months ago. She was happy, confident and comfortable around humans. She had slowly grown to love them all, and nowadays would sleep on a different Avenger's bed each night.

It had taken time for Midnight to heal, but she had done so.

The same was true, Natasha realised, for humans. Some wounds took their time in healing, and the split between the team caused by the Sokovia Accords was one such example.

They were still not reunited, Tony had not come around just yet, but Natasha held onto the hope that time would heal them.

One day, perhaps, they might come together again.

**Author's Note:**

> STORY ART: I created [this art](https://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/post/170765901036/the-avengers-are-more-than-just-a-team-they-are-a) to accompany this story, feel free to share it if you enjoyed it <3
> 
> THANK YOU: First and foremost, thank you for reading. I hope you've enjoyed it!
> 
> FEEDBACK: Comments and kudos are more than welcome! Let me know your thoughts :)
> 
> TUMBLR: I'm on Tumblr! My username is [ao3-elle1991](http://ao3-elle1991.tumblr.com/). Feel free to follow/talk to me on there.
> 
> OTHER STUFF I'VE WRITTEN:
> 
> If you want to get an email whenever I post something new, then click on [my profile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elle1991) and become a user subscriber. Be aware that this is _different_ from the Subscribe button on the top of _this_ page, which is for this story _only_ :)
> 
> Here's a list of my other stories, if you're interested:
> 
> [Fearless](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8346310) (291,275 words) - A Black Widow origin story. Starting when Natasha was three years old and going right up to the present day, this story explores Natasha's life as a Red Room Academy student, KGB agent, SHIELD agent and finally, an Avenger.
> 
> [Steve And Bucky's Kinky Alphabet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11776473) (176,544 words) - 26 chapters of explicit porn-with-plot featuring Steve and Bucky. Or: the one where JARVIS goes rogue and kidnaps the Avengers until they can sort their mental health out, and Steve and Bucky fuck a lot and fall in love.
> 
> [Vengeance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7285612) (51,573 words) - Bucky falls from the train. Steve will do anything to take revenge on those responsible for his death - even if it means joining HYDRA.
> 
> [Secrets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14704965) (40,706 words) - Bucky is a man with a big secret: for 70 years, he was HYDRA's weapon. Nevertheless, despite his dark past, he is trying to move on with his life and has even formed a relationship with Tony. All seems to be going well, until a security breach at SHIELD threatens to expose his past.
> 
> [Love Is Blind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15366393) (14,512 words) - After a mission goes horribly wrong, Natasha is left completely blind. As SHIELD scientists desperately seek a cure, Natasha struggles to come to terms with her disability.
> 
> [At Your Service](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624802) (12,931 words) - Clint and Natasha lose a bet. Phil gets them to dress up and act out some of his many, many Captain America fanboy fantasies.
> 
> [The Adventures Of Steve Rogers, Newsboy Extraordinaire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15153170) (11,161 words) - 7-year-old Steve has Selective Mutism. When Steve finds himself confronting a dangerous criminal, will he find the courage within himself to save the day - and even find his voice?
> 
> [Black Widow By Day, Black Kitten By Night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15854061) (6,164 words) - Natasha dons her cat ears, Clint ties up his pet, and hardcore, steamy sex ensues.
> 
> [The Black Widow Ice Cream Parlour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15253527) (3,746 words) - Natasha meets one of the people whose lives she has saved, and finally gets the appreciation she deserves.
> 
> [The End Of The Line](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7088617) (3,433 words) - Bucky falls from the train to his assumed death. Steve has to come to terms with a world without him in it.
> 
> [Turkish Oil Wrestling](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7013452) (2,620 words) - Steve and Bucky decide to have a wrestling match to settle an old score. Cue them stripping down to their pants, getting oiled up and engaging in a vigorous wrestling match that leaves them both hot and sweaty.
> 
> [So, You Like Cats?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7046986) (1,697 words) - Sam has a confession to make. It could make or break his and T'Challa's relationship. It all comes down to one question: Do you like cats?
> 
> [In Memoriam: James Buchanan Barnes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7924684) (120 words) - A grief-stricken Steve writes a poem in honour of his best friend.


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